He had brought the darkness of his world into her light, and he alone could remove the blight.
He knew what he must do, and so he pressed a kiss to the silken cascade of golden hair at her crown and gently extricated himself, taking care not to wake her. He dressed in haste, without the aid of his valet, and made certain two of his most reliable footmen guarded the chamber door. Though he doubted the miscreant who’d attacked Clara would have the bollocks to make another attempt by the light of day, he wasn’t about to take any further chances with her safety.
He took a brief moment to confer with Osgood, leaving the household preparation in his capable hands before settling into his carriage for what felt like the longest drive of his life. With each sway of the conveyance, he felt sicker, the knot inside his gut tightening until he feared he’d cast up his accounts like a sailor on his first day to sea.
Yes indeed, this was the fates’ way of meting out punishment for the reckless sin that had marked his life. Finally, he must do penance. He’d bloody well take it, though, if it meant protecting the woman he loved. The plum-colored flesh of her elegant throat and cheek mocked him as the carriage came to a halt outside the townhome of Jesse Whitney. His visit was unannounced, unexpected.
He’d come to bow and scrape to Clara’s father, to see to it that she remained far from the path of the malevolence he’d unwittingly brought into her life. Far from him and anything and anyone who would hurt her. Swallowing his pride today was the least of his worries. Jesus, someone had almost killed her. On his watch. Because of him.
Another surge of nausea nearly made him retch but he tamped it ruthlessly down as the carriage door swung open and he descended, gulping the cool morning air despite its familiar stench of horse dung and soot. He entered the stately home in a dreamlike state, only half aware of his surroundings.
As the butler led him to Whitney, Julian rehearsed half a dozen different things he might say. But how the hell did one tell a man that his daughter had almost been murdered in her bed and it was all his fault? Given Jesse Whitney’s searing dislike of him and his propensity for defending his daughter with the business end of a pistol, he wouldn’t be surprised if he left this interview with a gunshot wound.
Whitney stood upon his entrance, looking tense and ill at ease, his mouth drawn into the ferocious frown he’d come to expect. “Ravenscroft.”
“Whitney.” Julian sank into a chair, his legs betraying him. He’d never felt more weak, more pathetic and useless than he had in the hours since Clara’s attack. It left him limp and drained, floating in a sea of self-disgust.
Clara’s father sat, steepled his fingers, and raised an expectant brow. “To what do I owe this visit, my lord? Have you squandered my daughter’s dowry already? If it’s more money you’re after, I’m afraid you’re bound for disappointment. I’ll not give you another godforsaken penny.”
On any other day, he would’ve taken umbrage that the man held him in such low regard that he imagined him capable of losing a fortune in the span of a few days. But today was a different goddamn sort of day.
“I don’t want your bloody money, Whitney,” he bit out. “I want you to assure me that you’ll abide by Clara’s wishes and send her back to Virginia as soon as possible.”
“Well I’ll be damned.” Whitney sat back in his chair, regarding him as he would a thief who’d just approached him on the street with every intent to fleece him. “Is this what you planned all along, you cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch? To get her dowry and then rid yourself of her?”
“No,” he denied, his voice hoarse with the tenseness of the emotions roiling through him. “Her leaving me is the last thing I want in this world. But it’s what needs to happen. Someone attacked her last night. If I hadn’t been able to break down the door when I did…”
His words trailed away, cut off by the sudden thickness in his throat. By God, he would not weep before Jesse Fucking Whitney. He would not. His hands tightened into impotent fists on the chair’s carved mahogany arms. He took a steadying breath.
“My God.” The color drained from Whitney’s face, leaving him as ashen as Julian was sure he appeared. “Where is she now? What happened to her?”
“She’s safe,” he reassured. “She is sleeping under guard as we speak. But the bastard strangled her. She’s badly bruised. His intent was clear. I can only surmise that the person responsible for attacking me is behind this as well and he’ll stop at nothing until he reaches his objective. I’ll not have Clara in danger. Not for all your American gold. Not for all the gold in the bloody world. I want her safe and far away from me and any enemies I’ve made over the years. The farther away the goddamn better.”
“Sweet Jesus, she was strangled? My daughter was strangled? In your home? What kind of a monster are you?” Whitney flew from his seat, his face going from white to red in an instant. “How dare you put Clara in danger? If ever there was a man deserving of a beating, it is you, Lord Ravenscroft. I’d punch you in your smug, lordly face now if I didn’t fear that I couldn’t stop, and I’ve no wish for my children and wife to see me cast to gaol for your murder.”
Julian rose as well, grimly accepting every last drop of the anger Clara’s father spewed at him. He deserved it all and more. “I can assure you, Whitney, that no one loathes me more than I loathe myself. I never, not in my wildest imaginings, not for one second, believed my wife was in danger. I don’t have an inkling who is behind all this or why, but after last night, I’m determined to remove everyone I love from harm. That’s why I’m here now, to beg you to take in Clara and my sisters both as expeditiously as possible.”
“Everyone you love?” Whitney sneered. “Don’t expect me to believe you’re capable of such an emotion, my lord. Do me the favor of ceasing to maintain your pretense of caring for my daughter. She is and always has been worthy of far more than a man who’s whored himself for half the ton. She confessed the truth of your union to me, and I know it for the hogwash it is.”
So Clara had revealed the truth to her father. It startled him to realize she had done so and had never said a word to him about it. What else could she have said to her father? he wondered. And what was her motivation for telling him?
He couldn’t think about any of that now, though, could he? For the moment, he needed to focus on what was the most important task: securing safety for Clara and his sisters by their distance from him. “In that we are very much in accord. Clara is worthy of a far better man than I, and that’s why I’m setting her free. Look, I don’t expect you to believe a word I say, Whitney. But it may surprise you to discover that your opinion isn’t the arbiter of my finer emotions.”
Whitney scowled, striking his desk with his fist with enough violence to make pen and papers dance about. “Nothing surprises me, Ravenscroft. Particularly when it comes to fortune hunting vultures who prey on innocent, good-hearted girls like my Clara. She may be foolish enough to fancy herself in love with you, but I see you for the blackguard you are. You don’t fool me, goddamn your hide.”
Clara fancied herself in love with him? Something inside him, some stupid hope he couldn’t seem to quell, rose to the surface. “Clara said she loves me?”
Whitney’s eyes narrowed. “Of course she did. The girl lives with her head in the clouds. She’s too much like her mother, easily swayed by a handsome face. I all but begged her to come with me and she wouldn’t leave your sorry arse. Much good it did her. Nearly murdered in her own bed. Jesus, I’m of half a mind to kill you myself, earl or no, and beat whoever’s after you to the punch.”
His heart ached in his chest, ached to think that she felt what he did, this bone-deep connection, this all-consuming desire to be one with her and protect her. He wanted to be the only man who ever touched her, to make her his forever. But perhaps she was just a dream sent to taunt him, to prove to him how contemptible he was, how what he needed the most would forever remain beyond his reach.
Something inside him, raw and true, broke free in that
moment. He met Whitney’s glare without flinching. “Believe whatever you like of me, Mr. Whitney, but know this: I love Clara. I don’t deserve her. I never have and I never will. She’s good and smart and caring and brave. She swept into my life with the force of a bloody summer thunderstorm, and I’ve relished every second I’ve been in her presence.”
He paused, warming to his cause before continuing. “I love her and I want her safe and happy. I want her on a ship bound for Virginia as soon as possible—that’s what she’s wanted all along, and she ought to be far enough away from me and whatever faces me there. I want her to have the life she’s dreamed of. As for my sisters, I hope that they can stay in your home until I can be certain that whoever wants me dead would not come after them as well. I ask you all this as one man who loves Clara to another.”
Whitney stared at him wordlessly, appearing to take his measure. “My God,” he said at last. “I must be losing my mind, for I’m almost persuaded to believe you.”
“Believe me,” he said fiercely. “I’ve never met as fine a woman as Clara. I’ll do anything to protect her, even if it means giving her up forever. I want her safe more than anything. I’m no good for her, and I never will be.”
The fight seemed to seep from Whitney’s body. “I don’t like you, Lord Ravenscroft.”
The feeling was fairly mutual. “You don’t need to like me. We have the same goal: keeping Clara safe. She isn’t safe with me. I was too damn stupid to realize it, but I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Clara’s father sighed, and it was the sigh of a man who felt every one of his years in his very joints. “She won’t leave you easily, you know. When Clara is determined, Lord help anyone who stands in her way.”
Julian nodded. “She’s too stubborn for her own good. That’s why I’m enlisting your help, sir. I know she won’t listen to me alone.”
Whitney inclined his head in acknowledgment. “You seem to know my daughter well, Lord Ravenscroft. I begin to think I may have misjudged you.”
Ah, how ironic. On any other day, he would have appreciated the change of tides. It seemed that Jesse Whitney was realizing that he wasn’t the only man in the world capable of loving his daughter. Indeed, the usual rancor that had underscored their every conversation had dissipated.
Even so, never let it be said that he couldn’t own his faults. “You didn’t. I’m not worthy of your daughter, sir. My reputation is as black as you think and then some. But I love her with everything in me. And the thought of anything happening to her…I can’t bear it. Help me, please.”
“You needn’t beg, man.” Whitney skirted the desk and delivered an awkward clap on his back, the first show of anything other than enmity between them. “I’ll be happy to welcome her and your sisters into my home. And if I’ve any say in the matter, she’ll be Virginia bound by this time tomorrow.”
Thank God. The assurance left him feeling hollow and shattered. In less than a day, Clara would be sailing away from him. But by God, at least she would still be alive.
“Thank you, Mr. Whitney.” Relief coursed over him, blunting the soul-sick dread that threatened to overwhelm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some other matters that require my attention.”
The biggest matter of them all was uncovering who was behind the attempts on his and Clara’s lives and getting retribution. More and more, he couldn’t seem to keep one name from swirling through the murk of his thoughts.
Lottie.
And if she was somehow behind all this, there’d be hell to pay.
Chapter 15
The faint strains of light emerged through the window dressing, piercing the depths of Clara’s slumber and forcing her to wake. She rolled over, stretching, her body singing still with pleasure. She fully expected to find her husband at her side. The bed was empty and cool to the touch, counterpane carefully drawn tight to the pillow as if to suggest he’d never even been there at all.
But he had been there, and a niggling sense of foreboding settled in her gut that he was not there any longer. Aware of an unprecedented amount of footsteps sounding in the hall outside and doors opening and closing, she rose with grim intent, determined to find out what was happening.
Her dressing gown awaited her, neatly laid out on a chair by the bed. Had he done that? It was difficult indeed to imagine the Earl of Ravenscroft collecting her dressing gown and laying it out for her like a lady’s maid. She threw it over herself, belting it with care, and made her way to the door joining their chambers.
The door had splintered from his effort to break it down the night before, and it no longer closed properly. She would need to see to its repair, of course. The abundance of footfalls in the halls and the broken door were the least of her concerns, however, and that much became apparent when she stepped over the threshold to find a most unexpected tableau unfolding before her.
No, nothing about the day was as troubling as what she saw now. What was troubling indeed was that a number of servants were currently engaged in packing up her personal effects. She stopped, mouth opening in shock.
The contents of her wardrobe were scattered over the chamber, her gowns and undergarments separately arranged, trunks laid out, some already closed. The maids working diligently to pack her belongings all stilled at her unexpected entrance. Where had they come from? She’d yet to select domestics from the characters she’d been reviewing the day before.
She found her lady’s maid in the crowd. “Anderson, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“My lady.” Anderson curtsied and hastened to her side, her expression lined by worry. “His lordship instructed Osgood that we are to pack up all your things as you’ll be moving back to live with Mr. Whitney.”
Betrayal settled deep into her bones, cold as winter and just as merciless. He was sending her away. Sending her back to live with her father. And he hadn’t even had the nerve to inform her of his decision to her face. No, instead, he’d abandoned her in his bed as if she were no better than a harlot he’d paid for the night so that she could learn the truth from her lady’s maid and her own two eyes.
“Where is his lordship, Anderson?” she asked, trying to keep the violence of her emotions from coloring her voice. She would be calm. She would confront him, learn the meaning of this. She would not, by God, be sent away. Not like this.
Anderson blanched. “He’s not at home, my lady.”
Not at home. Her teeth ground together. “Where has he gone, if you please?”
“I’m sure I’m not privy to his lordship’s schedule for the day,” Anderson said faintly. “I’m so sorry, my lady, for what happened to you last night. It’s given the household quite a fright. Are you well today?”
“No,” she admitted, her gaze traveling back over the chamber once more. The other maids had continued their work, diligently sorting and folding. “I’m not well at all.”
“Let’s get you dressed, my lady. The doctor will be arriving soon at Lord Ravenscroft’s request.” The lady’s maid’s gaze dropped to Clara’s throat, her brow furrowing. “Begging your pardon my lady, but are you in much pain?”
Yes. She hurt everywhere. Most especially in the vicinity of her heart. “I’m not seeing a doctor,” she decided.
Julian could make as many high-handed decrees as he chose, but their issuance didn’t necessitate her submission. For never let it be said that Clara Elizabeth Ravenscroft had ever obeyed the edict of any man. If he thought he could simply pack her up and excise her from his life without putting up a fight, he was wrong.
“But my lady, surely you ought to see the doctor as his lordship wishes?” Anderson persisted gently. “You’ve a great deal of bruising, I’m afraid.”
Clara’s hand stole to her neck, absentmindedly stroking the reminder of the previous night’s horrors. “I’ll see no one other than the earl himself.”
A reckoning was in order.
* * *
The time to confront his past had arrived, though the act
gave him no satisfaction. Indeed, he knew only a deep-seated tug of anger mingled with self-loathing in his gut as his carriage stopped on a familiar street.
He was no stranger to the Duke of Argylle’s Mayfair home. Indeed, he suspected he’d spent more time there than Argylle himself, who preferred rusticating in the country or staying in St. John’s Wood with his mistress when in the city. After Lottie had produced two healthy sons, she’d been free to pursue as many lovers as her heart desired. And as it turned out, her inconstant heart had desired a great many.
Julian had been only one of an endless procession, though he’d been witless enough to believe their affair was different than the others who’d gone before him. Fucking came easy to Lottie—she had a beautiful face and body, a husband who didn’t give a damn, and a voracious sexual appetite. As a favorite of Bertie’s, she enjoyed free reign of the Marlborough House set.
But she also had a reputation beyond her eagerness in the bedchamber, one that he’d ignored in his lust and her declarations of love. A reputation for vindictiveness. She had a history of cutting and ostracizing the wives of her lovers. There had been whispers that she’d had a helping hand in Lady Morehaven’s madness and subsequent incarceration in an asylum in Chiswick after Viscount Morehaven had very publicly flaunted their affair. That had been before Lottie and Julian became lovers and he hadn’t paid the gossip much mind at the time. Naturally, Lottie had dismissed such notions with the wave of an elegant, well-manicured hand.
Julian had simply accepted her word, for the Morehaven scandal wasn’t any of his affair and he had enough whispers darkening his own reputation not to give a damn for idle gossip. Now, however, he had every cause to wonder. There had been the troubling altercation at the Devonshire ball, after all. Not to mention the call Lottie had later paid upon Clara. It had left Clara with enough misgiving that she’d seen fit to share it with him.
He descended from his carriage and strode up the front walk in a fog of troubled thoughts. As Julian gave the butler his card and cooled his heels, his mind sifted feverishly through the facts. He didn’t want to believe Lottie capable of hiring a thug to commit murder on her behalf. She was frivolous, callous, and faithless, but he’d never for an instant before today believed her dangerous.
Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6 Page 49